Bitter and Twisted
by Fyrefly12
Summary: Hamish never wanted to be Inquisitor, and he was damn sure going to make everyone know that. Not even a tall, dark and handsome could convince him otherwise. ((sorry, suck at summaries)) Trevelyan/DorianPavus - beware, Hamish is not a character to be taken lightly.
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: Dragon Age Inquisition SPOILERS ahead! This is also a MALE/MALE pairing. If you don't like, don't read ^_^

TW: Drugs and Sex

His eyes were cast down, as always. The lower he held his head, the more his raven fringe covered his face and the less of the mess he had to endure. He could feel the stickiness on his skin, could smell the rotten decay of the caves around him. His hand ached. It ached every time he closed a rift.

No one could see through the fingerless leather gloves he wore that the green magic had spread to his wrist.

It ate at him, and sometimes the pain was unbearable. Luckily, the pain mostly came at night where he could hide his face under the bedroll. Tears were but a distant memory, and they would never spill of course. Couldn't let anyone see those, dear Maker.

"Hamish?"

He turned, flicking his head to move his hair. The cave they were in was dank and stunk of mould, but enough light filtered through the cracks in the rock that they could see where they were. The demons were still crackling and twitching around them. Hamish stepped over a fallen Wraith, it's body still fizzing and popping with ice.

The fucker had caught him in the shoulder with an ice bolt, but he ignored it for the moment. Nothing he couldn't heal later.

"What?" he asked, stepping closer to Varric. The dwarf was on his knees, making him look even more ridiculous, but he held a rag to Dorian's face.

Hamish leaned forward, examining the gash on the Tevinter's cheek. Dorian had his eyes closed, obviously in pain.

Hamish clucked his tongue.

"That's it? Come on, Dorian," he said sarcastically. "Man up."

Dorian's eyes snapped open and Hamish gave the mage a smirk before standing straight and moving back to where he'd chucked his pack when the fight broke out. He ruffled around inside, hissing when his finger caught on a shattered phial of lyrium.

"Stupid fucking thing..."

Hamish threw his pack back over his shoulder and made a move towards the exit of the cave. He could hear the others scrambling to follow, but he couldn't care less if they caught up or not. Caves had always given him the shivers. Not that he had been in many, of course.

Life in the Circle was like that.

Hamish could hear Varric muttering to Cassandra about something, but he paid no attention. Instead he straightened his black leather armour and rolled his shoulder. That ice really hit his nerves. It's what had put him in a black mood, and the others were wise enough to stay the hell away.

When he'd been sent to the Conclave, he certainly hadn't expected to become some saviour, and he certainly wouldn't act like one.

Day by day, the others were asking him more, what should they do, where should they go? Hey, wasn't it those people that had him in shackles not a couple of weeks ago, ready to hand him over as the scapegoat?

The more he thought about it, the more black his mood got. And trudging through the Hinterlands didn't help one iota. His boot caught on a root at one point, and without thinking, Hamish had sent a fireball at the tree, sending it up in sparks.

He'd glanced behind him and saw the disapproving look from the Seeker. She wore that look every single time she looked at him. The Seeker of the Just, the Holiest of Holy's with a permanent stick up her arse. She hated him, because he represented everything wrong with the world, apparently. But the damn woman wouldn't leave him alone. Every time they left Haven, Cassandra would be there. The shackles may be gone, but the chains had never left.

"Well, I would say the tree deserved it, standing there all majestic and harmless. Always keep your vigilance, hm?"

Hamish let out a sharp breath, choosing to ignore the man who had somehow slipped beside him.

"Not in the mood, Dorian."

"Obviously. And that's why I decided you needed company."

Hamish bit the inside of the circular piece of metal that wound around his lip. The piercing had been something stupid and reckless, which fit him just perfectly. And it had irritated the Enchanters in the Circle to no end.

"I suppose telling you to fuck off wouldn't sway you?" said Hamish darkly.

Dorian irritatingly gave him a chuckle and twirled his staff in his hands.

"What a filthy mouth you have. Didn't those mother hens at the Circle teach you any manners?"

Hamish bit the piercing to stop a smirk.

"Darling, you have no _idea_ how filthy my mouth is."

Hamish let a smirk break through when he caught a glimpse of Dorian's face. The man had been with them for a matter of days, and yet he had intrigued the young mage to the point where he decided to stir the pot. Most people backed away quite quickly from Hamish. He was 'unapproachable', unsociable, and mostly just an arse hole.

"Well," said Dorian after a few moments. "That is something I'll have to investigate."

Hamish raised an eyebrow, stopping suddenly. A quick glance told him that Varric and Cassandra were about twenty paces behind. Those little legs didn't move very fast.

Dorian stopped in front of him, leaning on his staff and giving the Circle mage a once over. Hamish did the same, practically leering. Dorian wore tight robes, revealing too much of his toned chest. He stood a good foot taller than Hamish. Everyone usually stood taller than Hamish. He'd always thought himself having more of an elven figure. Slight, slim, feminine. But he wore it to his advantage, and the sway in his hips would turn enough heads. He couldn't count the amount of men he'd 'turned' in the Circle.

"Oh, sweetheart," purred Hamish, stepping a little too close. "You'll be biting off far too much than you can chew."

Dorian met him stance for stance, leaning in even closer.

"I've always enjoyed a challenge, _sweetheart_."

That little thrill of heat ran down his stomach. It was like a drug to him, that burst of heat. He would crave it more and more, usually during the chase. The end result wasn't always as satisfying, but from the fuckable look Dorian gave him, he imagined the end result would be rather delightful.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

Dorian smirked, reaching his hand to Hamish's neck. The mage felt the rough touch of a nail to his skin, and it sent a ripple of gooseflesh down the right side of his body.

"We'll continue this, Hamish."

Hamish reached up and grabbed the collar of Dorian's shirt, yanking it none too gently, bringing their faces even closer.

"Now that, I don't doubt, Dorian."

Hamish smirked again, just a tug of the lips, before letting the man go. Varric had just climbed over a little rock and now stood close. Hamish stepped back and away from the man, carrying on towards their camp.

Bolts of icy pain travelled down his arm and Hamish ground his teeth. He sat huddled in his tent, his right hand gripping his left arm so tightly that it stopped the blood flowing to his fingertips. It didn't help the biting pain or ease the electric green glow that radiated from his palm, but he needed to do something that made him feel in control.

When it didn't ease after a few more minutes, Hamish got to his feet and slammed his hand into the hard wooden trunk. It hurt, but it was a different kind of pain to focus on.

The light flickered and then burned brighter. Hamish was getting to the point that he was willing to rip his own arm off when he remembered something he'd found that day.

Like a whore reaching for the junk of another customer, Hamish grabbed his pack and tipped it up, shaking it so violently that all the phials shattered as they connected with the ground. Books and materials and all the shit he didn't need cluttered the tent, but Hamish kicked it all out of the way until he found the little leaf he'd been looking for.

The smell of it instantly filled his nose and he grabbed the leaf, bringing it to his nose. Just the smell of it calmed him down enough that his hands stopped shaking so hard.

He lit his other palm with fire and cast the light over the scattered contents of his pack until he found the little wooden box. Sitting where he stood, Hamish put the leaf on his knee and yanked open the box. Inside were rough cuts of thin paper and wispy looking tendrils of brown that smelled like earth.

He rolled the leaf and put it in the middle of a bit of the paper. Then he scattered some of the fluffy brown moss into it and skilfully rolled them together, sealing it with his spit. Having the stick of white in his hand made his head spin with excitement. Anything to get rid of this pain.

Hamish scurried to his feet and ducked out of his tent. It wasn't too late, so some of the people in the camp were still milling about. He saw Cassandra sitting by the fire, running a whetstone over her sword. He scoffed at her and slipped into the shadows, moving out and away from the camp. He climbed up a small rise and into a small cluster of trees. He could still see the lights of the camp just below, but he was sure he couldn't be seen any more.

The young mage moved into the centre of the cluster and put the white stick between his lips. He was so giddy with the rush of what was to come that when he called on fire, his whole hand went up in flame. It didn't matter, though, and Hamish brought the end of the stick to the flame and sucked hard.

The smoke instantly filled his lungs as he dragged it in, and holding it for a few breaths, Hamish let the smoke out with a quite moan.

The effects were instant, travelling from his lungs down into his stomach and up into his arms. He could feel it spreading through him, like one would feel a poison running through their veins. He took another long drag, and held it for longer, loving that feeling of bliss clouding his mind.

The smell of the leaf he was burning swirled around him, as did the smoke, and he revelled in it all.

His body felt light, the pain in his arm was dimming. Everything seemed beautiful in that one moment, even the twigs sticking into his arse. Hamish chuckled to himself and fell back, putting the white stick between his teeth as he spread his arms wide. He could see the night sky from where he lay, the stars shimmering against the black.

He never got to see the stars in the Tower.

"Isn't this a pathetic display?"

Hamish would usually have been on his feet, ready with a spiteful retort on his tongue. Instead he just turned his head, taking another long drag and putting the stick between his fingers. He smiled as Dorian walked closer into the clearing. Hamish blew out the smoke in Dorian's direction, but the Tevinter didn't cough and blow it away like anyone else would have.

Instead he breathed the smoke in deeply through his nose and then shook his head.

"What are you, fifteen?"

"Closer to fifteen than you, old man."

Dorian scoffed and kicked Hamish's boot, but the young mage just chuckled. He kept his eyes on the Tevinter as the man put his staff against a trunk and moved to sit just next to him. Hamish brought the stick back to his lips and took another long pull, holding it in his lungs before offering it to the man next to him.

Dorian eyed the rollie dubiously, his eyes flickering from what Hamish offered to Hamish's face, before reluctantly taking it from him. Hamish blew out another lungful of smoke, humming under his breath as his body started to completely relax.

He didn't take his eyes off Dorian, though. He didn't know if the man was going to smoke it or throw it. Hamish could guarantee that Dorian would take some damage if he threw it, though. Thankfully, Dorian put the rollie between his lips and took a tentative drag of it. The end lit up red as he did so, and Hamish felt another idiotic smirk on his lips.

Dorian grimaced slightly, but Hamish had to give it to him, the man held the smoke in his lungs longer than he'd expected.

The Tevinter blew out the smoke slowly at first, and then coughed out the rest.

"Lightweight."

Dorian scowled as he passed the rollie back, and Hamish was still smirking as he put it back between his teeth.

"How old are you, anyway?"

Hamish turned his head slightly, already inhaling more of the delicious numbness.

"Younger than you."

"It's never wise to continuously insult a mage, Hamish."

Hamish put his left arm behind his head and stuck out his tongue.

"Bite me."

"Is that an offer?"

Hamish nearly swallowed the rollie, and he was suddenly reminded of their earlier conversation. He rolled onto his side, facing the man. Dorian was leaning against another trunk, his legs laid out before him. Hamish let his eyes linger, as if he was contemplating whether he was offering something or not. Of course he was, but it was never good to seem too eager.

"It depends..." he said slowly, wrapping his lips around the rollie and taking another deep breath of it. Everything was numb now, just how he liked it. "How hard do you bite, Dorian?"

Dorian's eyes seemed to be darker now, making them seem almost black.

Hamish smirked, thinking he'd tempted the man too far. Maybe even put him off. That wasn't the case, he soon found out, because Dorian was grabbing his wrist none too gently and yanked him up. Hamish would have protested if the Tevinter hadn't moved him onto his lap. Hamish let out a surprised breath, realising he was straddling this man he didn't even know.

It wouldn't have been the first time, he told himself.

Hamish sat back and smirked, bringing the rollie back to his lips as if Dorian hadn't interrupted him whatsoever.

"Didn't think you had in it you, sweetheart," teased the young mage, breathing the smoke into Dorian's face. He put the rollie to the man's lips, and Dorian's eyes never left his own as he took a drag.

Hamish felt that heat in his stomach again and he rolled his shoulders. There was nothing better than sex while high. It didn't happen often in the Circle. The leaves were hard to get hold of, and the Enchanters never revealed that the leaf they added to poultices was just as potent when smoked. They always labelled it as a 'healing agent'. Laughable.

"Is this the only way you relax, Hamish?" asked Dorian quietly, nodding his head back to the rollie that was back between the mage's teeth. Hamish took one last drag and flicked the butt of it away.

He didn't give Dorian an answer, instead leaning down and bringing their lips together.

Dorian answered eagerly, opening his mouth. Hamish decided to push his luck, breathing the smoke in his lungs into Dorian's mouth. The Tevinter surprised him again, inhaling it easily whilst letting his tongue lick over Hamish's lower lip.

Hamish groaned, loving the way this man was surprising him. He arched his back, rolling his hips teasingly over the Tevinter's lap.

Dorian hissed, his hands on Hamish's hips, unsure whether to still the smaller mage or make him do it harder. Hamish chuckled, pressing his chest against Dorian's and forcing the man harder against the tree trunk.

"Last chance, Dorian."

Dorian smirked, the finely trimmed hair above his lip looking far too tantalizing for Hamish to handle in his inebriated state. Then those strong hands were running up Hamish's back, pressing hard into the leather armour wrapped around his body. Hamish let out another breath, humming as he did so.

When one of those hands grabbed a handful of Hamish's midnight hair, the young mage was pleasantly surprised. Then Dorian pulled Hamish's head back, exposing his neck.

The moan that escaped his lips was instant, and was quickly followed by Dorian's lips on his pale neck. He arched his back into the submission of his predicament. Dorian had matched him comment for comment, move for move. He shouldn't have been surprised when this man matched him move for move intimately.

Hamish pressed his hips down hard on Dorian's lap, wanting at least some idea whether Dorian was putting this on, or it was what he wanted.

"I knew a shit like you once before," muttered the Tevinter against Hamish's neck. The Herald had no words on his tongue to reply as Dorian was still forcing his head back. It didn't hurt, not like the pain in his hand. No, this was sending electricity down every single nerve, and Hamish was stunned from it.

"A little brat who thought he stood atop the world," continued Dorian, each word followed by a brush of his lips. Hamish pulled his head forward, trying to fight against the control Dorian was trying take from him. Hamish never gave control over without a fight.


	2. Chapter 2

But Dorian's hand had a strong grip, and it only tightened in his hair as he struggled. Hamish let out a low growl, but it mingled with the breathy edge that revealed he was enjoying this a little too much.

"Did you put him in his place like a good little Tevinter?" asked Hamish sarcastically, giving Dorian a hooded look before biting the piece of metal in his lip.

Dorian chuckled, sitting forward. Even doubled over, Dorian was still taller than he was, and he could still keep eye contact.

"Oh darling... the things I did to that little bastard... you couldn't even imagine."

Hamish chuckled under his breath, giving another hard tug which tore his hair out of Dorian's grasp. He leaned forward, close enough that their lips hovered just inches apart.

"If you think you're going to tame me, darling, I would suggest you think again."

Hamish didn't notice the little hitch in Dorian's breathing. He could see from the man's expression that he'd sucked him in. But Hamish wasn't lying. No one had been able to tame him, because he was always one step ahead. Hamish gave the man a look which should have explained it all. No strings. No attachment. Just sex that would blow his mind.

As far as he could tell, Dorian understood.

"So are we going to do something about this, or are you going to continue to give me lip?"

Hamish smirked, moving to bite none too gently on Dorian's jaw. The Tevinter hissed again and bucked his hips, pressing against the bulge in Hamish's leather greaves.

"Depends how far you want to take this, sweetheart."

Dorian pulled back and gave him a pout that Hamish just knew he'd practised time and time again. Hamish just raised an eyebrow. That look certainly wasn't going to work on him. And Dorian knew it.

Hamish was suddenly thrust to his feet, the Tevinter had far more strength than he let on, decided the young mage.

Hamish enjoyed the show of strength, but standing on his feet when he had an itch that thoroughly needed to be scratched wasn't his prefect way of getting off. He put a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow, watching Dorian as the man sat back and just studied him.

"Changed your mind?" asked Hamish sarcastically. He'd be pretty damn pissed if Dorian turned him away now, especially as he'd got the young mage all wound up.

Dorian hummed under his breath, seemingly taking in every detail of the mage before him.

"Strip."

Hamish let out a surprised bark of laughter.

"Come again?"

"Well if all goes well, I thoroughly intend to. Strip."

Hamish had his hand on his hip, but he had to admit that he was intrigued by this man. He hummed in the back of his throat, deciding to take up this challenge. It wasn't as if he was modest, after all.

Hamish reached to the buckles around his waist, keeping his eyes on Dorian as he slowly started to undo the belts. Hamish loved his armour, all leather. All black.

Dorian's eyes watched every single move Hamish's hands made, and Hamish revelled under all of the attention. Yes, this was what he liked. He'd strip a hundred times if he kept getting looks like that.

He slipped the first layer of his leathers over his head, starting on the under layers. He slipped off his jacket, his leather breast plate. Hamish didn't know if Dorian realised it, but the Tevinter was sitting further and further forward with each piece of clothing that came off.

Hamish kept his fingerless leather gloves on, ones that covered his wrists, but he took off the bracers. Finally he pulled his thin tunic over his head and held it in one hand, hanging there temptingly.

He could feel the slight breeze on his bare torso, but the numbness spreading through his body kept him warm. Dorian's eyes were drinking him in, and Hamish could understand why.

It wasn't that he was in love with himself, although he did know that he was attractive. He had a slight frame, thin. His skin was deathly pale, probably from the lack of nutrients in his diet. Hamish did have a thing for sweets, after all.

Dorian's eyes were skimming over every inch of him, and Hamish was practically preening under the attention. He put his hand on his hip again, leaning to one side and raising a perfectly curved raven eyebrow.

"I'm surprised you have a tattoo."

Hamish gave the man a small smirk, glancing at his right shoulder. The tattoo was an intricate runic design that he'd created himself with a mash up of different wards that he'd found in some ancient tome at the Circle. The tattoo wound from his chest, up and over his shoulder and down his back. The rune on his shoulder was his favourite, a mixture of swirls and dots that was supposedly a ward against demons. He couldn't say that it worked, but it was his idiotic sense of comfort, he supposed.

"I'm full of surprises," he said slowly, another smirk creeping up his face. He dropped his tunic on the floor and crossed his arms.

"And the rest?" asked Dorian in a tone that had a slight edge to it. Hamish didn't know whether the flash of goose bumps was from the cold, or the temptation of utter competency in Dorian's voice. Hamish chuckled under his breath.

He put up his index finger and tsked in time with three side-way motions.

"Ah, ah, ah. You don't get something for nothing in this life, sweetheart. Especially with me. Your turn."

Dorian's face flashed with a moment of irritation but was quickly replaced with a smooth smile. Hamish half expected the man to get up and walk away, but Dorian kept his eyes focused solely on the Herald as he got to his feet.

"I have a feeling this isn't your first role in the dirt, hm?" said Dorian slowly as those tanned hands moved to the buckles around his waist. Hamish kept his arms crossed as he watched Dorian undoing the buckle that held the armour on his shoulder. Dorian deliberately took a step away from him – as if Hamish would lose control and reach for a grab before he was 'allowed'.

Hamish chuckled, giving the necromancer an unimpressed look. Yes, he knew these tactics. Yes, he'd practised these himself. And they usually worked. When there was nothing in view except unblemished skin and raw sexuality.

Dorian gave Hamish the first genuine smile, and the Herald had to admit that it suited the man. Dorian was obviously impressed with him. Maybe he was trying to throw Hamish through a couple of loops, but Hamish certainly wouldn't jump until he was damn well ready.

The first layers were off.

Dorian stood in his under layers, a long sleeveless tunic that ran past his groin. Hamish looked down slowly, enjoying the enticing glimpses of skin. He wouldn't truly appreciate those muscles until they were under his tongue though, and he was getting impatient.

Hamish hooked his fingers under the lip of his own greaves, pushing them down a little to reveal the dip in his pelvic bones.

Dorian's hands, which had been working on the straps around his waist, stopped ever so briefly. Hamish clucked his tongue and the necromancer scowled slightly, yanking at the buckles before chucking them by the tree. Hamish bit his lower lip, gesturing for the man to continue.

The Tevinter reached behind his back and pulled the tunic off in one swift motion. Hamish surprised himself by sucking in a sharp breath.

Well, the necromancer certainly hid _those_ muscles well.

Dorian's body was incredibly toned. He was thinner than first thought, but those muscles told a story that replayed behind Hamish's eyelids. Against Hamish, Dorian would look huge.

Luckily, Hamish preferred to bottom.

"Enjoying the view?" asked Dorian sarcastically, chucking his tunic back with all the buckles. Now they both stood in nothing but their greaves, and Dorian's were a lot tighter than Hamish's.

The young mage licked his lower lip, just as Dorian stalked towards him. He expected to be grabbed, to be touched, but the Tevinter did no such thing. Instead he started a small circle around Hamish, piercing the Herald's pale skin with those dark eyes.

Under scrutiny, was he? Hamish rolled his eyes and kept his stance relaxed, even though he felt a prickle on the back of his neck as Dorian moved around to his back.

"Not to your liking, sweetheart?"

Dorian chuckled under his breath, just as something cold brushed the small of his back. Hamish gasped at the feel of magic on his skin. It was far different from the touch of skin, it had an edge to it, it's own feel. And Dorian had purposely used a cold magic on him.

The Herald's shoulders wanted to tense. He wanted to grab Dorian and throw him to the floor, to prove that he was as good as he promised. But it felt like Dorian was putting him through another one of his little tests. It irritated Hamish, a little stab in his stomach, but he let the man continue to try and intimidate him.

Hamish bit the inside of his lip as he felt another brush of magic. This time it was the pinch of lightning that wound around his left hip. That bit of magic had more of a bite to it, and Hamish felt an involuntary flash of heat pool in his stomach.

Sex with a normal man could be fun. Sex with a mage? That was a whole other level of chaos.

And Dorian was certainly promising him some chaos.

After a few more moments, Hamish was getting bored of being scrutinised. Dorian had stopped just to the side of him. Perhaps these were more seduction tactics. Perhaps the Tevinter was just teasing. Whichever it was, the movements were dulling the excitement Hamish had felt when he's started removing his clothes.

If Dorian was putting on a show of magic, Hamish would happily comply.

In one quick movement of his wrist, silver magic grabbed Dorian's body. Hamish pushed his hand forward, putting Dorian back against the tree. The man gave a surprised gasp, but Hamish hadn't exactly done it ihardi. Well. Not too hard, anyway.

Dorian narrowed his eyes, the magic shimmering around him faintly. Hamish was using so little magic that he hardly felt it leaving his body.

He smirked, swaying his hips as he moved towards him. Dorian's hands were burning purple, some kind of warning that he was letting Hamish do this out of his own curiosity. Hamish didn't doubt that Dorian could break free if he so wished, but he hadn't. And the Herald wasn't going to let the man go easily. Not when there was so much skin rippling in front of him.

"Hush now, sweetheart. I did warn you."

Dorian's face was slightly shadowed by the tree's branches, but the young mage saw a flash of white.

"If this is all you have, I'm quite unimpressed."

Hamish's instant reaction to the taunt was to tighten the magic holding Dorian's arms. He felt another spike of heat in his stomach when he heard Dorian catch his breath. Oh, he did so love hearing those kinds of reactions.

Hamish finally stood inches from where Dorian was pinned, vulnerable. He had a new respect for the necromancer. He was letting himself be pinned by someone he hardly knew. Someone who could do practically ianything/i.

The smirk Hamish gave the man at that thought caused the magic in Dorian's palm to brighten, and the Herald knew he was now being timed.

"So nervous," hummed Hamish, moving his gloved hand to splay over Dorian's abdomen. He moved his hand over that luscious skin, loving how Dorian's muscles tensed under his fingers. The magic holding him was secondary now, and Hamish enjoyed the control he'd taken over this man. A man who had been determined to tame him was now writhing under his touch.

"Don't you trust me?" purred Hamish, pushing on Dorian's chest an giving him a look from under his long eyelashes.

"Oh darling," he said with a biting smile. "Don't give me that look. There's nothing innocent about you."

Hamish actually let a genuine laugh slip out, moving forward to try and cover it up. He brushed his nose over Dorian's stomach, moving his head up so that his lips replaced the trail that his nose had made.

He glanced up again and felt a little thrill as he saw Dorian's eyes watching every move. At this proximity, Hamish could see every expression, he could see the thoughts whirring around the man's head. Dorian was on that fine cusp between curiosity and madness. Of course it was mad, letting a stranger do this, but he could comfort himself with the fact that Hamish was young and his magic wasn't yet fully developed.

Hamish smiled against Dorian's skin. Oh, if only he knew the full extent of Hamish's magic.

He heard Dorian taking a breath, no doubt to make some kind of remark, but Hamish silenced any words by letting his tongue dip out and into the curve of an abdomen muscle.

Dorian let out a moan almost instantly. The build up was starting to pulse around them, the tension of who would win this battle. Hamish felt a spark of magic against his own. Dorian was testing the barrier that held him. Hamish quickly rebuffed that poke at his magic by strengthening his own.

Before Dorian could react, Hamish pressed his tongue hard against the man's skin and started a trail up onto his chest and around to his neck. He had to move to his toes so that he could reach, but at that moment he hardly cared.

"Scared?" whispered Hamish into Dorian's ear, following the word with a nip at the man's ear lobe. Dorian's breathing had become uneven, but his voice was controlled as he answered.

"Of a brat like you? Hardly."

Hamish hadn't been expecting the sudden rush of magic against his own, and his hold on the barrier was released, shattering in a flash of light. Strong arms were suddenly around him, lifting him like he was a feather. He was slammed into the tree, the rough bark pressing into his pale skin. Hamish let out a rush of breath, unsure if it was from the force of Dorian's movements, or the ignition of fire in his belly.

Dorian had one hand cupping Hamish's arse while the other was embedding itself in his hair. Once again, Hamish's neck was pulled back but this time Dorian's lips were there. Hamish reacted instinctively, wrapping his legs around the man's hips and grabbing his bare back with his gloved hands.

Hamish hissed when he felt those teeth sink into his neck, hard enough to mark. His breath came out as a moan, and he felt a rush of magic in the air as Dorian reacted to Hamish's reactions.

The magic swirled around them, moving with the rush of their desire. It was invisible to the eye, but potent to the sensitive.

Dorian's hands seemed to be doing wonders, spreading over Hamish's skin and leaving a trail of burning flesh in their wake. It was so much more passionate and raw than Hamish's last endeavour.

When he felt those wet lips on his chin, Hamish felt a little prick of reality. He sent a rush of magic outwards, enough to knock Dorian back enough for him to get his feet. The necromancer was back on him in an instant, but Hamish's hands were now grabbing at the belt securing Dorian's greaves. Dorian did the same, but Hamish's fingers were more adept at unbuckling belts, and with one grand sweep, he pulled the belt free and chucked the piece of leather somewhere to the right.

Dorian moaned at the back of his throat as Hamish wrapped his arms around the man's neck, pulling him close, and crushing his hands between them. Hamish let his face hover over Dorian's, their lips a mere breath apart. But he wasn't going to kiss him, no. Kissing was… not his thing. Too messy. Tongues could be put to far better use in his opinion.

The Herald instead nipped along Dorian's jaw, just as he felt his belt being pulled free.

Then those strong hands were slipping over Hamish's hips, into the leather of his greaves and were slowly being dragged down. Hamish sighed, humming and rolling his hips, urging the man to move faster. A rush of wind told him that he was now exposed, and it didn't take two swift kicks to have his greaves somewhere behind them.

Dorian stepped forward, forcing Hamish back against the tree, those hands moving down and over his arse, squeezing teasingly. Hamish smirked, hooking his finger in Dorian's trousers and forcing them down with just a lick of magic.

"Last chance," whispered Dorian mockingly, making Hamish smile and shake his head, his black hair falling messily over his face.

"Bring it on."

Dorian grabbed him once more, lifting him up easily and pinning him against the tree. Hamish hissed when he felt his length brush against Dorian's hot skin, and the friction sent little tendrils of heat into his stomach.

"I'm not a patient man, Dorian," warned Hamish as he felt the Tevinter's fingers move towards the most sensitive part of the elementalist's body.

Dorian cocked an eyebrow just as Hamish felt a rush of magic being summoned in Dorian's hands. Something was suddenly against his skin, something warm, wet and slick. It was trick that Hamish hadn't heard of before, but was very useful he thought as he felt the familiar feeling of a finger being pressed inside his body.

Dorian let out a rush of air, moving that finger expertly. Hamish moved his head into the crook of the man's neck and let his lips make messy trails. Small sounds were coming from the young man's mouth, but he couldn't help it. Dorian was moving his finger in ways that Hamish hadn't even dreamed. But when he crooked that finger, hitting that one perfect little spot, it was so sudden that Hamish cried out.

That sound seemed to be the limit for the necromancer, because Hamish was pushed back against the bark, his legs being pinned higher by the bulging muscles in Dorian's arms. His sight was covered by his hair, but Hamish could see that intensity on the Tevinter's face. It was so sexual that Hamish had to stop himself from bucking.

Then there was something pressing against him. Something far bigger than a finger, something far harder, and something far more tantalising.

Dorian's eyes locked with Hamish's, and the Herald gave Dorian the most challenging look he could.

That was when Dorian slammed into him, making Hamish's teeth clash. The force of it was crushing his skin against the bark, but the high that came from being fucked well and truly was more important than a few scratches.

Dorian pulled out teasingly only to buck right back, making Hamish let out another cry. The young elemntalist lifted his gloved hands above his head as if trying to grip the bark. Dorian started a fierce rhythm, giving Hamish everything he'd asked for, and every new thrust was sending the mage to new heights.

He couldn't breath through the intensity, he couldn't stop the flames that were licking down his palms. Everything was zoning down to this one moment, this intensity that was threatening to burn down the forest they were desecrating.

Hamish could hear Dorian's ragged breaths, and he found himself turning his attention to the expression flittering over the necromancer's face. Hamish didn't like that he could see the control on the man's face. It was a control born from years of practise, but what was control if not a chain to be broken?

It wouldn't be tonight, though. Hamish was already far too gone to try and break that control. But if he'd known Dorian had skills like this, he wouldn't have waited this long to bed him.

Dorian was speeding up, making Hamish's body continuously slam against the bark. The Tevinter shifted his arms, shifting Hamish. Another thrust had ice spreading up the tree from Hamish's hands. He was brushing that spot, that spot that was sparking white light behind Hamish's eyes. The young mage had so much pent up frustration, and he hadn't been touched like this since before the fucking conclave.

Dorian had more strength than he first thought, because those thrusts certainly weren't slowing. He could feel the warmth of magic on his hips where Dorian was pressing him into the bark.

Heat was coiling in his abdomen, flickering, winding. It wouldn't be long. Hamish didn't give two shits whether Dorian would think less for him having low stamina, because the beauty of that release was all Hamish wanted now. He needed that new high, and Dorian was damn well going to give it to him.

Ice was swirling around his palms, but Hamish still reached forward and grabbed Dorian's face, pulling him closer and letting his nails dig into the hot flesh. The man's skin was slick with sweat, his eyes hazy with that all too familiar lust. He could tell from the tension in the man's shoulders that he was getting close too. This kind of built up guaranteed a quick ending. As long as it blew his mind, Hamish didn't care about the speed of it.

"That all you got?" said Hamish in broken breaths, his body still being wracked from the force of Dorian's thrusts.

The man was already hazy, and Hamish's words only seemed to piss him off. Hamish just smirked in response, feeling the crackle of Dorian's magic in the air. He was sure that the air was actually popping like a hearth.

Dorian stopped his movements and Hamish's face dropped. If the man left him like this without finishing what he started, then there would be one crispy Tevinter in the morning. But Dorian only lifted him higher, just as Hamish felt magic creeping over his skin. It was cold compared to the burning that was causing beads of sweat to run down his back.

The magic held Hamish up, kept his legs up whilst Dorian moved his right hand from underneath him.

Hamish cried out as his length was grabbed, the shock of it sending waves of lightning down to his toes. He cried out when Dorian started up his brutal pace one again, this time moving his hand along Hamish's length in time.

The extra stimulation was making his head spin, and it didn't take many more thrusts until Hamish was shouting out, that coil of pressure releasing in such a rush that a burst of his magic followed. The ecstasy of it spread through his limbs in a flash, deflating him and closing off his mind to every kind of thought.

He barely registered Dorian shouting out and let himself be caught by the man as he came down from his own high.

The two of them stayed like that for a few heartbeats, no sound but their laboured breathing. When thoughts started to bubble again in Hamish's mind, the mage slowly lifted his head. He tapped Dorian's shoulder and the necromancer released the magic still holding Hamish up.

His feet touched the ground unsteadily and he had to put his hands on Dorian's shoulders to steady himself.

Dorian took a long breath just as Hamish brushed the strands of hair back that clung to his sweaty forehead.

"Better than you expected?" asked the Tevinter cockily, his voice still holding that breathless edge. Hamish chuckled and moved away from the tree. His back was stinging, there was no doubt he had a few scratches and probably a few bruises to come.

The young mage moved to grab his tunic, using the material to clean himself before sending it up in flames. He then grabbed his greaves and hauled them on.

"Wasn't too bad," he replied with small smirk, moving around the little area collecting his armour before tugging on jacket right over his bare skin.

Dorian was now leaning against the tree, still naked, watching him.

"So no 'thank you', I take it?"

Hamish chuckled again and moved over to the man. He tapped Dorian twice on the cheek, almost patronisingly.

"Thanks. See you around."

Dorian's eyes widened, but he was smart enough not to say anything else as Hamish jogged away from the trees and back into the camp. The fire was flickering now, the only people awake were two lone guards sat facing the expanse of the Hinterlands. They were talking quietly to themselves and didn't seem to notice Hamish as he slipped back into his tent.

He dumped his armour on top of the mess he's made earlier. The young mage sat heavily on his bedroll, feeling far more relaxed than he had before. He didn't both to take off his greaves. Instead he just shrugged off the jacket and lay back on the scratch material.

Dorian would certainly be an interesting companion, he decided. He sighed and then yawned, surprised that he would actually sleep tonight.

Bringing his hands up to his face, he slowly pulled off the leather glove that covered his wrist, his eyes instantly turning to the jagged green mark on his hand. It mimicked the tear in the sky, the green glow still prominent as it wound over his palm. He sighed, noticing that the mark had spread just that little bit further onto his wrist.

A mark he never wanted, that named him a saviour. A mark that was eating him alive.

He sighed again and turned over, deciding that sleep was a better option than wondering whether this damned mark was going to eat him whole.


End file.
